


Only Begotten Son

by Greekhoop



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Character Death, Guro, Inspired by Book, M/M, Medical Procedures, PTSD, Splatterpunk, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-03
Updated: 2011-12-03
Packaged: 2017-10-26 20:01:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/287294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greekhoop/pseuds/Greekhoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A cautionary tale fashioned after Dalton Trumbo's Johnny Got His Gun. Snake sees Liquid one last time; Liquid wiggles feebly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Begotten Son

**Author's Note:**

> From the comments on the original post: "What do you mean people wanted more fluff fics? I thought they said they wanted more SNUFF fics!". So, this fic was inspired by [Dalton Trumbo](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Johnny_Got_His_Gun#Plot). I originally posted it on a slash comm, but there's really nothing erotic about it. I was trying to push myself to write something extreme, and I think I succeeded, but any sexual content is more or less incidental and in the service of creating the most gross, depraved, irredeemable scene I possibly could.

Solid Snake rarely slept deeply enough to dream.

When he did dream, it disturbed him. His dreams were not nightmares, not exactly. They were too familiar to be nightmares. They were, instead, moments from the past. Nights he had spent crouched in foxholes watching the oil wells blaze on the horizon. Nights he had spent in hiding, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Nights he had spent in prison, waiting for the perfect moment to die.

They were nights he experienced again so keenly, that it sometimes took the whole night to dream them.

And when Snake opened his eyes to the Alaskan morning-moonlight streaming through his windows, in those moments between true wakefulness and true sleep, with the witch riding his back like a drunk girlfriend, the past seemed more real than the present.

There were times when Snake was not sure whether he was alive and dreaming, or dead and remembering.

That was what disturbed him. But that was not the only thing.

Snake stood over the slab of meat that had been his brother, and he didn't know what to do. He had come expecting to find a corpse, and close did not count when it came to corpses.

Though Snake had to admit, this was the closest to a corpse he had ever seen.

Liquid was shrouded in a white sheet. It had been pulled up to his throat, but tucked in tightly around his body, and Snake could make out the rise of a chest beneath the covers, tapering downward toward a sunken abdomen.

But there was something strange about the shape of Liquid beneath the blankets, something shrunken.

At first, Snake thought that Liquid must be bound somehow. Perhaps with his arms behind his back, and his legs bent up to meet them.

Perhaps he was still dangerous.

That thought was more of a comfort to him than Snake had thought it would be.

But it was a comfort he could not cling to. Because he knew at a glance - from the bandages wrapped around Liquid's face, from the bluish cast to his pale skin – that he would never harm anyone again.

No, it was not that Liquid's wrists were bound, it was that he had no wrists left to bind.

Snake felt a surge of bile.

He had felt nothing when he thought Liquid was dead, but this was different. Crueler. And he was glad that he could not see Liquid's face. That face that looked so much like his own.

Snake swallowed hard, and reached for the top of the sheet.

His fingertips brushed the hollow of Liquid's throat, right below the bandages. He felt something hard, and he paused, tracing its shape with his fingers.

A plastic tube disappeared into the hollow of Liquid's throat. Every few seconds, the ragged skin around it sucked hungrily. Snake could feel the puckered edges twitch, like a body on the verge of orgasm.

It was breathing for him.

Scowling, Snake hooked a hand beneath the edge of the sheet. He expected Liquid to move. He should have heard something by now and awakened. But the body was still, except for the wet sucking of his breath.

Snake pulled the cover back, folding it down to Liquid's chest.

His skin was stretched skeleton-tight over his bones. His ribs jutted out, the hollows of his collarbones were deep enough to drink out of. His biceps has shrunken to the size of Snake's wrists, and below his biceps there was nothing.

His arms ended in two neat stumps, halfway between the shoulder and elbow on either side. They were wrapped in white bandages, with a crust of black blood staining some of the folds.

The amputations were not fresh, but wounds like that sometimes took a long time to stop bleeding.

Snake hardened himself, and reached for the sheet again.

He pulled it down again. Past Liquid's shrunken stomach, his jutting hips, like the joint between two lengths of pipe.

Past his flaccid dick. His balls, shaved with quick medical precision and efficiency.

Snake pulled the sheet down further. It took him a moment to realize, there was nothing else to uncover.

Because Liquid's legs, too, had been amputated, a few inches below the hips. Wrapped, like his arms, in white gauze and black blood.

"Jesus…" Snake muttered, and he almost jumped because his voice sounded very loud in the silence.

His eyes flicked to Liquid's face, sure that this time he had been heard. Sure that Liquid would awake, and would know at once who he was.

But his brother had still not moved.

Snake reached out hesitantly, touching the spot on Liquid's throat where plastic tubing met skin. Felt him breathe for a moment. He touched the tube that disappeared into Liquid's stomach. It, too, twitched urgently, though much less frequently.

It was feeding him. Yes. He was eating through a tube. And what came in through a tube, had to go out through another tube.

Snake touched the tube that jutted from the end of Liquid's cock, as if he needed to be reassured of that. Even a body like this was still mired by the laws of biology. Liquid still breathed and ate and pissed and shit, even if he could no longer run or walk or hold a gun to his own brother's head.

"And I thought I had nasty dreams," Snake said.

He turned his attention upward, to Liquid's face. His entire head was wrapped in white bandages; only his hair was free. It had continued to grow, like fingernails after death. It was longer now than Snake remembered, though lank and dirty and dull, like a vase of long-wilted flowers.

Snake touched a lock of that decayed blond, tugging it out from beneath the bandages.

The ends of the strands were stained with the same black blood as the dressings on Liquid's arms and legs.

Snake stared at that darkness, knowing there was something he should be able to divine from it but couldn't. Something his mind refused to recognize.

And it was then that Liquid awoke.

His chest rose and fell in a deep sigh, and his stumps twitched, as though he was stretching phantom limbs. Snake dropped the lock of his hair, and drew back guiltily.

"Liquid?" he said.

His head turned fitfully against the pillows, and he kicked weakly a few times. He did not speak, but Snake watched his throat clutch and convulse around the breathing tube as though he wanted to.

He made a wet, rattling sound in the back of his throat. A gagging, drowning, animal sound.

A sound that Snake could not, at first, place as human.

Liquid made the noise again, and pink blood bubbled in bottom of his breathing tube. Before he could think better of it, Snake surged forward, and laid his head against Liquid's forehead, stroking his hair back.

His brother sighed wetly, and fell still.

"It's me, Liquid," Snake said. "I know you remember me. You're just like dad, you know. Neither of you had the good sense to stay dead the first time."

He kept talking as his hand slid lower, tracing the shape of Liquid's face through the bandages. He could feel Liquid's sharp cheekbones, and his solid jaw, but the center of his face was oddly flat and without contour.

"I want you to know," Snake said. "I didn't come to save you or anything. And I didn't come to put you out of your misery. I came for a body, and you aren't even good for that."

Where Liquid's eyes should have been, was only a slight depression, and a humid wetness that Snake could feel even through the bandages. Where his nose should have been was a dampness and a softness, like meat instead of cartilage. Where his teeth and his lips and his tongue should have been, there was nothing, and the bandages were like the unsteady soil over a sinkhole.

Snake paused, overcome again by the sensation of stubborn incomprehension.

It wasn't until fresh blood began to seep through the bandages, that he understood. Blood, from an open wound. A bright red circle, in the shape of a face. The stain began just above where Liquid's eyes were, and ended just below his lower lip.

It was then that Snake realized, there was nothing left in between.

"Liquid?" Snake said uncertainly. "Can you hear me?"

Liquid made another wet gurgling sound, but it was not a noise of recognition.

Nothing.

The word floated across Snake's mind. It was a familiar word, but a word, he realized, he had not fully understood until this moment. Because he did not know what they had done to Liquid, or why, or even how he was still alive.

But he did know that his brother had nothing left.

Snake turned away, and he vomited.

He never ate before a mission, and so what came up was mostly bile. Burning, bitter stomach acid that stung his nose and made his eyes water.

He spat out the taste, but the knowledge that Liquid would never taste anything again was heavy in the back of his mind.

A surge of anger was upon him, faster and more urgent than even the need to vomit a moment ago. He lunged at Liquid, his hands curled like claws.

Those perfect hands, those clever hands, that would never betray him. He would always have his hands. Even if his strength failed him one day, there would be things he could do. He would be able to walk, and to feed himself, and to clean a gun. Even if his mind failed him, he would still be able to see the snow in winter, and taste the smoke from a cigarette, and hear the way Hal said his name when he was irritated.

Some things could be taken for granted. Some things could be taken on faith. Even if Liquid seemed determined to make it his final mission to make Snake doubt them.

"You can't," Snake snarled, as his hands curled in the tangles of tubing surrounding Liquid's body. "I'm not like you! We're not the same!"

He grabbed the feeding tube in Liquid's side, and wrenched it free.

Blood and thin food paste dripped from the end of the tube, and from the hole it left behind in Liquid's side.

His body went rigid.

Slowly, Liquid turned his ruined head to one side, and then to the other. Snake froze, with the bloody tube still clutched in one hand.

Liquid made a weak, questioning sound. And then he lifted his head from the pillow and let it fall again. It seemed, to Snake, something like a nod.

"You like that, huh?" he grunted. "You wanna die, Liquid?"

Snake dropped the feeding tube, and then curled his hand around the two tubes between Liquid's thighs. He jerked them out savagely.

A trickle of bloody piss dripped from the end of Liquid's cock.

Liquid was moving his head again. Lifting it and letting it fall in a rapid, enthusiastic rhythm. Urging him on, Snake thought. Wanting it. Wanting it more than he had ever wanted anything. Wanting it so badly that the way he had once wanted Snake's death seemed like little more than a passing fancy from childhood.

"Yeah," Snake said. "Thought all you needed was a little fucking perspective."

He closed his hand around the tube in Liquid's throat, and it was there that he hesitated.

Liquid wiggled feebly, though somehow Snake knew, he would be begging if he still had a voice. It was too bad. Snake would have given a lot if it meant being allowed to hear Liquid Snake beg him for death.

"It's not very fair, you know," Snake said, and his eyes narrowed. "You don't even know it's me. You don't know who you have to thank for this."

Slowly, he drew his hand back. Liquid made a sound that was almost a sob, and he leaned forward as far as he could, trying to follow Snake's retreating fingers.

"I'll get to that soon enough," Snake said, setting a hand on Liquid's forehead and pushing him back. "Just be patient."

First, an exercise in communication.

Snake backed off a step, looking Liquid over critically. He didn't have many options, he thought. If Hal were here, he'd be able to figure something out. But Snake knew, even now, that he would never tell Otacon about this. He would never even say the name Liquid Snake in his presence ever again.

Snake combed his eyes thoughtfully down Liquid's ruined body, and paused when he reached his crotch.

Liquid's cock wasn't hard, but it was stiffer than it had been. It was an involuntary action, a reflex caused by the surge of adrenaline in Liquid's bloodstream, by his racing heart.

Snake reached out, and touched it with a gloved hand.

Liquid made a low question sound, but he didn't need to be able to speak. The way his cock twitched against Snake's fingers said plenty.

Snake laughed, but it was a humorless sound.

"Ready for your last cigarette, Liquid?" he muttered, closing his hand around his brother's cock and stroking it.

He was surprised by how quickly he brought it to hardness. Moisture dribbled from the tip, white drops tinged pink with blood.

Liquid had gone still again. He was tense, reaching out with every nerve he had left, trying to understand.

He was a smart boy. Snake was confident that he would understand in time.

He moved around to the foot of the bed, and took the stumps of Liquid's thighs in his hands. When he griped them, he felt warmth on his hands, and fresh blood stained the bandages.

Snake ignored it, pulling Liquid toward him so his hips rested on the edge of the bed.

Liquid had begun to wiggle feebly, though he seemed to understand that struggling was hopeless.

Snake loosened the fly of his fatigues, tugging his cock out. Liquid was not the only one who was eager for the end. Snake's own cock grew rigid easily, pressing forward into the hollow of Liquid's hip.

Liquid tried to draw his thighs together, but Snake forced them apart again. He lifted Liquid's hips, and stepped forward, so the head of his cock nudged up between his brother's buttocks.

"You look just like one of those sex toys," Snake said. "The ones that don't have any arms, or legs, or heads. Just a latex cunt. Just a destination, you know?"

He snapped his hips forward, burying himself in Liquid's body in a single thrust.

Muscles tightened around him, spasming. A wounded cry echoed in Liquid's throat, and a dribble of blood leaked from beneath the bandages around his face and drooled over his chin.

"Hang on," Snake said. "I'll all be over soon."

He began to move in sharp, savage strokes.

Liquid's body jerked with each thrust, and he made a small, damp noise. A kind of, "uck, uck" sound, over and over, as Snake fucked him.

After a while, the bandages around his thighs soaked through, and Snake could feel hot blood on his hands. It drenched the front of his fatigues, smearing his hips and belly.

He had not thought Liquid's body could have that much blood left in it.

The soft "uck, uck" sound grew wetter and more choked as Liquid's throat filled with blood and mucous. Snake knew that he was close now, and he reached up to wrap his hand around the tube jutting from Liquid's throat.

Liquid squirmed, tilting his head back and offering his throat to Snake's hand. He arched his back in supplication, and for a moment it was almost like he was thrusting back against his brother's invading body.

Snake tightened his grip, and he jerked the tube out.

A gout of blood sprayed from the hole in Liquid's throat and his muscles clamped down and Snake came hard.

He didn't allow himself to stay inside his brother for long. He did not want to be there when Liquid died. He pulled out of the shuddering body, and zipped up his pants.

The hole in Liquid's throat was still sucking desperately for air, but it was slowing. In the last moments before it stopped entirely, Liquid lifted his head, and if he had had eyes left, they would have been looking directly at Snake.

He did not know what emotions would have been hidden in their depths. Anger or gratitude, hatred or relief. Love or grief.

It didn't matter.

Liquid's head had already fallen back to the bloodstained pillow, and it did not rise again.


End file.
